


Daddy's Little Brat

by kmandofan90



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Cockwarming, Consensual Somnophilia, Daddy Kink, F/M, Facial, Handcuffs, Mentions of Sex, Minor Injuries, Oral, Overstimulation, Petty Theft, Spanking, death of Storm troopers (nondescriptive), messing with someone's helmet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmandofan90/pseuds/kmandofan90
Summary: Reader is an unrepentant brat, doing her best to just keep pushing Paz's buttons. He's a patient man, but sometimes, he has to be...creativewith his punishment.
Relationships: Paz Vizla x Reader, Paz Vizla x You, Paz Vizsla x Reader, Paz Vizsla x You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	Daddy's Little Brat

**Author's Note:**

> **Word Count:** ~13k  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Notes:** So y’all get the “Tailor is a ThURSty FUckIN HOe” Sampler Pack tonight. Tighten those jetpack straps, fellow Paz Fuckers, you’re in for quite a ride:
> 
>  **First and foremost: multiple cream pies & 100% unprotected sex. Wrap. It. Up. Take care of yourselves. (Alternatively, use whatever protection is appropriate for your relationship.)** Canon typical violence, descriptions of combat, description of minor injuries, Stormtrooper death, Reader Is A Brat, Reader Calls Paz "Old Man" and Variations Thereof, petty theft, Reader is a Badass, mentions of other characters fucking (in pairs and in groups), mentions of porn, playfully messing with someone's helmet, Reader calls Paz daddy, Paz calls Reader 'little one', handcuffs, spanking on the ass (marks left on skin), spanking on the vulva (gentle), fingering (f receiving), unrealistic depiction of human physiology (author’s cum kink), playful name-calling, Paz sort of gets off on crying, childish behavior from a grown-ass woman, oral (m & f receiving), hints of cock worship, deep throating, gagging, dirty talk, a hint of breath play, hair pulling, facial (f receiving), spitting (sort of?), vaginal sex, breeding kink, size kink, masturbation (f & m), cockwarming, overstimulation (to the point of crying), first kiss, consensual somnophilia (sleep sex), soft & sweet aftercare (Paz takes care of his partner), cuddling, cold feet against warm body parts, gentle tickles, barely edited.
> 
> Also uploaded to Tumblr at anxiety-riddled-mando.tumblr.com.

_Boom_.

The explosion rocks the ground underneath you. You don’t even flinch as you continue your repairs on the modified Westar-34 on the ground in front of you. It had been close, but not close enough to concern you. Salt flats, maybe? Paz says nothing, his attention focused to the world outside the bolt hole. When you hear footsteps and muffled voices, your head jerks up, alarm filling you. There aren’t supposed to be any Imps this far out. Before you can speak, Paz is already moving, pulling his vibroblade out of the sheath under his bracer. He disappears into the harsh sunlight. For a few moments, you hear nothing, and then –

Gunfire, shouts, and the sound of _bes’kar_ colliding with plasteel. Then nothing but the distant rumble of munitions for several minutes. Quickly, you replace the battery pack, keeping your eyes on the entrance, your heart thrumming uncomfortably. A shadow falls across the ground outside and you tense; however, you soon recognize the heavy footsteps as Paz. A moment later, he drops in with you, a new rifle strapped to his back and a splash of scarlet across his breast plate.

“How’s it looking out there?” you ask, connecting the two main wires to the cell, filling the narrow space with the acrid scent of solder.

“The others will be funneling the Imps toward the main square,” Paz says. “North and east sides have been cut off, leaving the south entrance. We’ll take them out there.”

A sensible plan, you think, and quick, too. While numerous, the enemy appears to be Imperial cannon fodder. It’s a waste of life, you think, but there is nothing you can do but try and force them into retreat. You snap the cover back into place and tighten the screws to close it.

“Alright,” you respond, finalizing the repair. “I’ve done a temp patch, but we need to find the short in the circuit before you add it back to your normal rotation.”

He examines it briefly before returning it to his belt. You pack your tools away and loop the belt over your head, waiting for him to give the order to move out.

As soon as you heard that Paz was looking for additional members for his ground team, you had volunteered yourself immediately, and he had chosen you to be his backup. The amount of armor he wears and the weaponry he carries slow him down massively, and your job is to cover his backside.

Literally, you cover him from behind, your back to his, as he sweeps the streets for stragglers. Unfortunately, your group had been separated a few minutes ago by a surprise ambush, so now, the two of you need to find the other half of your team.

“Thanks,” he says. “Ready?”

You snort with amusement.

“Come on, old man,” you say dryly. “I was _born_ ready to kill Imps.”

“Don’t call me that,” he responds.

“Alright,” you say. Then with an impish grin, _“Relic_.”

He shakes his head at you with an exasperated sigh. You pick up your own weapons and turn off the safety. He comes out, taking out two Imps. You follow, providing cover for his overly armored _shebs_ , picking off the two Imps on the roof with your rifle. The two of you make a pretty good team, you think to yourself, even if it makes you sulk when you realize that he is not leaving any Imps for you to practice your knife skills on. He leads the way north toward the main square, his long legs eating up the distance easily. With your much shorter legs, you have to trot fast to keep up with him, and it isn’t long before you are breathing hard from the exertion.

Nearly halfway there, you find Terys and Revala. Relief fills you like warm molten honey. Revala, the second-in-command, sweeps the buildings and rooftops for snipers. Terys will scout ahead to look for explosives or traps. Right now, he’s on the ground, legs spread out in front of him. Fortunately, the Imps did not have enough time to set much up anything, so the four of you have had a relatively smooth time this far. You notice the blood on Revala’s _kute_ the same time the next group of Imps comes barreling toward your party.

“Your blood or theirs?” you call out to Revala.

“Please,” Revala scoffs back at you. “I think if we skipped snacks and nap time, the toddlers could take these Imps. Bare-handed.”

You laugh - anyone stupid enough to get between a cranky Mandalorian toddler and their snack deserves every single bite mark they earn. You lunge toward the troopers stupid enough to face you on foot. _Finally_ , you think. Dodging the butt of the first one’s rifle, you duck underneath their arm and drive your blade deep into their side, aiming up and toward the hepatic artery. Even enemies are given a quick death. You withdraw the blade and continue moving forward, maintaining your momentum through each movement until you have sliced your way through the troopers nearest to you. When they have been taken care of, you return to Paz and Revala, who are busy mowing through the next wave advancing troops.

“Only a hundred,” Paz shouts at Terys. “Only a _kriffing_ hundred of them, he says!”

“What else do you expect?” Revala asks Paz, “This _di’kut_ only has ten fingers and ten toes to count on!”

“Oh, fuck you,” Terys moans from his place on the ground, his hands shaking as he tries to splint his ankle.

Taking a deep breath, you dart across the open space, ignoring the _ping ping_ of blaster fire as it bounces off your armor. Sliding across the gravel, you kneel next to Terys.

“What did you do?” you demand of him, as you scan his ankle. “It’s broken. _Again._ How did you break your _ankle_ without a _jetpack_ this time?”

“I fell off an AT-ST,” he says triumphantly.

So triumphantly, in fact, that you immediately know he is lying. Fortunately, Revala overhears him, and swiftly sets his story straight.

“LIAR,” Revala shouts at him. “An Imp _tripped you_ , you clumsy _shabuir_!”

Terys laughs hysterically as you take over splinting.

“And I had to carry you all the way here,” she continues. “So don’t you start that _bantha_ -shit!”

“I love you, _ner karta bes’kar_ ,” he calls out to Revala, which only earns him a disgruntled noise.

Shaking your head, you mutter something about his incompetency and get his ankle braced tightly with your limited supplies. You don’t have bacta, so he will need to get back to the healer’s tent soon. The splint and wrappings will have to do, you think to yourself.

You lace his boot up around the splint to ensure it stays in place. Then you hand him your last two pain pills to control the inflammation and pain. He shoves them up the front of his helmet with shaking fingers and dry-swallows.

“Alright, do your best to not jar it further,” you say. “The pain meds will numb the pain just a bit, but you need to take it easy.”

“Thanks, _ner vod_ ,” he says, rolling onto his knees. Once he’s upright, he takes a moment to test his weight on his ankle, balancing against the crumbling pillar. Then he nods and reaches into his belt. “Time for some payback,” he says to you. Then he turns back to the field. _“GOOR_!” Terys yells, lobbing a grenade into the group of Imps. They scatter, but not before the blast takes a few of them out.

You check the streets behind you one more time, but there is no movement there. You turn your attention to Paz, who is favoring his left side once more. Shit _,_ you think, has it opened back up? He was grazed earlier today, so you had helped him slap a bacta-laced bandage over it to keep it sealed up.

“Hey, old man,” you shout at Paz. “You’re slowing down. How are you holding up?”

“Stop calling me that,” he responds. “And I’m fine.”

“Alright, Honored Elder,” you shoot back, grinning at him under your bucket. “Let me know if you need more adhesives tape.”

“Don’t call me that,” he repeats.

“Sure thing, fossil,” you say, even as Terys and Revala slowly shake their heads at you.

You hear his sigh from here, even over the blaster fire. Currently, you are toeing a very fine line. However, you are fortunate enough to have earned Paz’s respect and affection. Well, as much affection as he is willing to show anyone, you think to yourself. You are lucky to get a _keldabe_ kiss in public. Watching Paz in your side camera, you see his shoulders tense.

“Another squad incoming,” Paz says. “Din says about forty. Get ready.”

You scramble into position behind him as he reaches for his heavy cannon, lifting your blasters. On either side of you, you can see Terys and Revala grabbing their rapid-fire weaponry. Paz lets the Imps get close before he starts shooting, picking them off carefully.

Paz’s cannon makes short work of the group. Then your group begins to advance, street by street, taking out stragglers. Then the TIE fighters show up. You and Paz duck into a blown out grocery store; Terys and Revala take the mechanic’s shop across the street.

“Hold position,” Paz shouts, his voice easily carrying to the other two. “Aerial support’s coming in.”

You relax and lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. It’s been a while since you last spent this much time in full combat gear. You’re also parched, your mouth sticky and dry. You cannot recall the last time you had water. Awkwardly, you fumble under the strap holding your pauldron to the chest plate until you find your drinking hose. You pull it out and take a few small sips. The water is warm and tastes strongly of chlorine, but it is what you have.

“Want some?” you ask Paz.

“Yeah,” he says.

Sliding your blaster into its holster, you crawl to Paz, settling between his knees, and leaning up against his chest plate. Paz takes the hose and drinks a bit of your water. Then he clamps the end off and tucks it under your armor for you. Then you sit and scoot back to your previous position, watching for any incoming troopers. For several long minuts, all you see are empty streets. The sound of explosions has faded. You sneak a peek over at Paz, who is seated comfortably, knee drawn up, arm on his knee, and blaster dangling.

You stealthily pick up a pebble. Then you lob it at him. It hits his cuirass with a pathetic _tink_. He doesn’t seem to notice. When he turns his head to check the alley, you throw the other pebble. This one hits his helmet. No response. Your lower lip slides out in a pout. After scanning the street, you pick up another handful of pebbles. Well, you have time to kill, and Paz makes a convenient target. It isn’t until you peg him straight in the visor that he reacts.

“Quit it,” he says firmly.

“No,” you respond.

He sighs again. You grab another handful of pebbles. Between sweeps of your surroundings, you toss pebbles at Paz, hoping to get a stronger reaction.

“Quit it,” he repeats, not looking at you.

What will it take to get a reaction? You lob another one. This time, you get him in the cheek plate. He does not even twitch, much to your disappointment. You have always known that your lover has the patience of a saint. This is the first time you have been able to truly test that patience. And he does not react. Finally, the order to move forward comes, and the two of you get to your feet. Before you can move, however, Paz grabs you by the arm and pulls you closer. He tilts his helmet down at you. A thrill fills you – his fingers are tight, unyielding bands of iron around your arm, yet gentle, deliberately avoiding bringing you pain.

“Quit. Your. Shit,” he says firmly.

“No,” you say with a grin that he can probably hear.

As soon as his back is turned, you toss another pebble at the back of his helmet. His shoulders tighten up, but he does not say anything as the two of you check to see if the street is clear. Heh. Paz is definitely getting annoyed now, a thought that fills you with an odd sort of pride.

After several moments, Paz announces the way is clear and the four of you continue down the street. Revala takes Terys back to the healer’s tent and the two of you rejoin the main fighting corps. Once aerial support has cleared out the TIE fighters, the ground fighters receive notice to continue moving forward. It is hard, hot, sweaty work. Sometimes, you can rely on your blasters. Other times, you have to rely on your knife. Your stamina rapidly depletes as you wade through the fights, struggling to keep up with Paz. He is decked out in nearly fifty kilos of armor, his weapons, _and_ his kit. And he looks like he’s barely weighed down at all.

Paz grabs you by the arm and drags you into a narrow alcove. Without speaking, he hands you a ration from his bag.

“You need to eat,” he says firmly.

You nod in agreement, grateful to be off your feet for a few minutes. Glancing down, you see that your hands are shaking. You hadn’t even noticed. After he checks your surroundings one last time, Paz slides under the concrete cover with you, taking his spot in front of you, acting as your wall of _bes’kar_ , providing you with the protection that your light armor does not.

Paz rips into his own ration without preamble. He takes a glove off to tear jerky into small strips and stuff them up the front of his bucket. You do the same, your stomach aching for food. You are willing to take your helmet off for him in private, but not here.

While he is distracted by someone addressing him on the radio, you slyly reach over and steal his cookie. Mm, almond, you note. With another peek at Paz, you start eating it. _Surely_ the petty theft of his food will get _some_ sort of reaction. Paz finishes his jerky. Then he moves on to the _haashun_ , breaking off pieces of it and alternating with sips of hot broth, not bothering to reconstitute the bread separately.

Crude, but highly effective. He never has been the type to waste his time or energy. You are full before he gets to the dried fruit, so you reach into the gap between your bodies and start working on his weapons once more. The Gatling gun had sounded a bit off to your audials. Opening the side panel, you find the culprit – a loose panel vibrating each time the ionization coil ignites. You tighten the bolt down firmly. You hold your hand out. Wordlessly, Paz hands his vibroblade over. He notices that you have stolen his cookie right as you are checking the battery.

“Did you take my food?” he asks in exasperation.

“I was hungry,” you say sweetly.

Paz tilts his helmet down at you. Reaching down, he picks up the remains of your ration pack and pulls out what you have not eaten. He can’t see your grin, but you know he registers your amusement with the heavy sigh that escapes him.

“Right,” he says dryly, as he starts eating the rest of your jerky.

You start snickering. Amusing, yet still not the response you have been looking for all day. Paz shakes his helmet again and holsters his weapons. He stuffs the trash into one of his many pockets and leads the way back into the fray. As soon as backup arrives, the rest of the skirmish goes quickly, leaving you and Paz to go scavenge the weapons and ammunition from the fallen troopers. It’s hard work, but at least the Tribe will have parts to pick through for a while. And Armorer will have extra plasteel for the children’s armor, too.

Standing with the other fighters, you feel a sense of satisfaction in your chest. The adrenaline is still coursing through your veins, making you feel energized and antsy. Glancing around yourself, you can tell that your _vod_ are in similar conditions. Many of them will be partnering off to blow off steam. The lucky bastards will be going off in groups, you think to yourself. It has been a long, long time since you last had the fight fucked out of you.

Hopefully, Paz will be riled up enough to give you what you need.

* * *

Back on the ship, you take your time in getting ready for the flight back home. After a quick trip to the refresher, you dress in your spare _kute_ and load your other garments into Paz’s tiny laundry machine. Then you head up to the cockpit and take your place in the pilot’s seat. You are working on plotting the course home, your legs swinging back and forth, when Paz starts ascending the ladder.

“Move,” he says.

“But I wanna drive,” you say, looking up over your shoulder at him.

Tonight, he is wearing only his helmet and his _kute_ , the stretchy material clinging to his rippling muscles.

“Move,” he repeats.

Sulking, you get to your feet, and Paz takes his place at the helm. Cheekily, you sink down onto his thigh, earning another sigh from him. He, however, does not tell you to move. Instead, he works around you, even as you lean your head against his shoulder. He smells so good, you think to yourself. You used the same soap, yet it smells so different. As you drum your fingers against his bracer, you find that you are amazed that Paz has the self-restraint to not even snap at you a little. Looking back at your behavior, you wonder how he hasn’t just tied you up and gagged you for your insolence.

Once more, you disregard the voice in the back of your head telling you to _stop bothering him_ and begin plotting your next attempt to annoy Paz. Once he has relaxed, his data pad in his other hand, you slither your hand up to his side and start poking him. For nearly a full minute, Paz does not respond, save for the movement of his thumb against the screen of his data pad. You move up to that ticklish spot just under his ribs. This time, he squeezes your hip in warning.

“Stop it,” he says firmly.

“No,” you say defiantly, giving him a good poke this time.

“Stop. It,” he repeats.

You just keep going, not bothering to hide the grin on your face. This time, you work your way further up. When you come to his injury, you press a kiss to your fingertips. Then you gently brush your fingertips against the bandaged spot. Then you go back to poking his shoulder, quiet snickers escaping you. Yet, even with your downright obnoxious behavior, he does nothing but scold you. What will it take to get this man to react? You marvel at his patience – if you had been in his position, you would have probably slapped the stupid out of yourself by now.

“Stop. It.”

His tone is sharp, with that undercurrent of _danger_ that makes your walls clench in anticipation. _Finally_. You poke him again, watching his hands carefully, just _waiting_ for something to happen. Nothing. You poke him a second time. His hand falters. Now that you have found his limits, you have to tread carefully from here on out, to make sure you are fucked in the sexual sense. You move back down to his chest and start pinching his nipple gently.

“Quit it,” he barks at you, but there is no true malice there. If anything, he sounds…amused? And judging by the fact that you can feel his cock throbbing underneath you, you know for a fact that he is not upset with you.

“No,” you say defiantly.

“I am _not_ going to tell you again,” he says flatly. “Stop _kriffing_ poking me.”

 _This_ is genuine annoyance. No more poking. You will have to find another way to annoy him. You reach up for his helmet and he tenses. You pause, giving him a moment to decide whether he’s okay with your touch. When he does not tell you to stop, you continue forward, and start tapping on his visor.

“Stop it,” he says. “This is your last warning, you little brat.”

You let your fingers drift down the glass toward the edge.

“So if I try to stick my finger in your mouth,” you say.

“I will bite you.”

“The fun way, or - ?”

“Wanna find out?” he asks casually.

Biting down on your lower lip, you turn your face down and close your eyes as you tuck your head against his chest, your fingers trailing up the front of his bucket. You feel the edge of his cowl. Then the start of his beard a little further up. It feels short and neatly trimmed. His upper lip is a bit scratchy, so you trail your thumb along the curve of his plump lower lip.

“So. Like what you feel?” he asks dryly.

“I’m disappointed there aren’t tentacles under there,” you say cheekily. “You know, like that naughty vid we watched a few weeks ago?”

Paz sighs in disappointment, earning another laugh from you. You reach up. You can feel how intensely he is watching you through the dark glass of his visor. Something inside you coils, thrumming with electricity. The tiny voice in the back of your head screams for you to stop provoking him, but you impulsively decide to throw all caution to the wind to see what sort of creative punishment your _Alor’ad_ can come up with. This time, you start tapping on his visor, right between where his eyes are.

He sighs a massive sigh that makes his vocoder crackle.

“You know, I have been so patient today,” Paz says, lifting you out of his lap.

He slams his fist on the autopilot button before turning to you. You back away and he follows, matching each of your steps until you back into the wall. His hand settles at your throat, resting lightly against your collar bones. He looms over you, body curled forward. His fingers dig in just a fraction and your breath hitches. With alarming alacrity, you realize just how far around your throat his fingers wrap, and as he leans in closer, you feel _miniscule_ in front of him.

You have seen him kill with his bare hands before, and while the thought might have frightened anyone else, it only turns you the fuck _on_. Your core ignites, heat spreading through your entire body, pulse racing as he tilts his head down at you, observing you like a predator would stare down at his prey.

“Little one, you’ve been really obnoxious all day today,” he says. “Makes me wonder if it’s intentional.”

“I was just playing,” you say as innocently as you can.

“If you don’t quit your shit, daddy is going to have to punish you.”

You understand the unspoken statement – Paz wants it _rough_ tonight, and this is your last warning. Well, you wanted sex, and now you are going to get it. Hopefully, your pussy will forgive you for what you are about to put her through. With a sweet smile, you reach up, and start drumming your fingers on his visor. Paz exhales gustily as he swats your hands away.

“Why did I think you had the sense to _stop_?” Paz murmurs, catching your hand in his.

His other goes behind his back and he removes his handcuffs. _Oh, fuck_ , you think. This is _not_ what you had in mind. The trepidation must have translated across your face.

“Starting to have regrets, are we?” Paz asks, hooking the cuffs over one of the pipes jutting from the wall. He turns you so that you are pressed up against the cold metal, your nipples already stiffening. Then he cuffs you in place. You offer no resistance, hoping he will take mercy on you. The cold metal cuff clicks shut with a heavy finality that makes you _really_ regret your attempts at harassing him. “Well, you had your chance, little one.”

Paz reaches around you to undo your pants. He pushes them down over your hips, a noise of appreciation escaping him when he finds you are not wearing panties. When they hit the floor, you kick them out of the way. His gloves follow. Paz reaches back around to yank your shirt open, sending buttons flying across the cockpit.

One big, warm hand encloses your tit and squeezes, forcing a gusty sigh from between your lips. His foot works its way between yours and pushes them apart. As he pinches your nipple between his fingers, he leans in.

“Daddy’s real disappointed in you, little one,” Paz says casually. “You have been an unholy terror all day long.” His other hand drops to your ass and he squeezes. “It’s like you’re trying to piss me off.” Hard fingers trace forward along the cleft of your ass, toward your aching, clenching core. “Are you being a brat to get my attention?”

“I’m not a brat,” you insist, fingers curling around nothing as he traces his fingers around your entrance. “Ju-just playing with you, old man.”

“Look at what we have here,” Paz hums in response, dipping the tip of his finger along your slit. “You are _soaked,_ little one. Does provoking me get you off that much, hmm?”

“It’s not my fault you can’t take a joke,” you respond.

He does not respond, fingers working between your legs, sliding his fingers along your lips and teasing them apart.

“You called me names. Threw things at me. Stole my shit,” Paz says. “You didn’t need to go to those lengths if you wanted daddy to play with you.”

“You _are_ an old man,” you retort, “Aren’t you like forty – ah!”

Two thick fingers plunge into you without warning, forcing your walls wide open. Paz rumbles when you tighten around him, a deliciously dark noise that makes your pulse skyrocket. A low whine escapes you as he begins a slow pace inside you, fingers twisting and scissoring against your trembling walls.

“What has gotten into you today?” he asks in mock-sadness. “You had been so good for me all week. Now you’re acting this way. It really disappoints me. Makes me think you have no self-control.”

You _know_ provoking him is a bad idea, yet you can’t get your _mouth to kriffing stop_. You have never pushed him quite this far before. You have no idea what the fuck you are getting yourself into right now, but you charge on, throwing yourself headfirst into the unknown. Fuck it, you think wildly to yourself, if you can’t walk right for a week it will be worth it.

“Well, your dick sure hasn’t gotten into me,” you respond, writhing, gasping when he presses the pads of his fingers against something that makes you bite your lower lip.

A low huff of laughter escapes him, one that you feel in your diaphragm. You are _so_ fucked, you think to yourself, as he leans in closer, pressing his helmet against the back of your shoulder.

“If you wanted daddy to play with you, you could have asked,” Paz whispers.

A third finger makes its way in, forcing a cry from you. You drop your head against the wall, toes curling tightly at the ache from inside. He gives you little time to adjust to his aching intrusion before beginning a rough pace, filling the cockpit with the wet, slick sounds of him fucking you on his fingers.

“So wet, so tight,” Paz remarks in a gentle tone. “I bet you want daddy’s dick right now, huh?”

“Ye-yes, please,” you whimper. “Daddy, I’d like – please – “

“Oh, well look at that,” Paz says in mock surprise, stilling his fingers inside you, pulling a whine from you. “You _do_ have manners, you little brat.”

“Please?” you squeak out nervously, trying to look up at him.

“Ah, ah,” he says. “You know daddy doesn’t like whining. And I still need to punish you, don’t I?”

He pulls his fingers out and you wail in protest.

“Stop your mewling,” Paz says. “You had your chance to behave, and you just kept going. You just had to keep being a little brat.”

You stand there, huffing in annoyance, as his hand cups your ass once more.

“Here’s what is going to happen next,” Paz says. “I am going to spank you. You are going to count them for me. All the way until we get to twenty swats across this cute little ass of yours. If you lose count, or give me sass, I’ll have to start over. Got it?”

“You are a gross, pervy old man,” you shoot over your shoulder.

He rumble-laughs at you. Paz gives you no warning. He lifts his hand and smacks you sharply, making you squeak.

“O-one,” you whimper.

He lifts his hand and delivers a second stinging blow, and you just barely manage to squeak out a quiet ‘two’ in response. He pauses deliberately, allowing the pain to ebb away just enough to make the next swat more painful. Paz chooses a slightly different spot each time, varying his pace and force. The next blow makes you cry out sharply.

“Fuck!”

“As I recall, _fuck_ is not a number,” Paz says, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Looks like we have no choice but to start over.”

You let out a cry of despair, burying your face against the wall.

“You _fucker_.”

The words slip out of you, and you realize your mistake before you finish the sentence.

“ _What_ did you just say?” he asks calmly, and you know that you have crossed another line you did not know existed. You whimper as he squeezes your tingling ass cheek, making your breath hitch. Tears gather on your lashes and you sniffle quietly.

“I didn’t say nothin’,” you mumble.

“You called me a naughty word,” Paz says. “My, you must _really_ want your ass too bruised to sit on. I guess we have to start all over again.”

He lifts his hand and swats you across the vulva. A hoarse yelp escapes you as you pull against the cuffs. As his hand hovers over you, you realize that he’s waiting for you to start counting. The tears on your eyelashes start to fall.

“ _One_ ,” you whisper, earning a dark chuckle from him.

He continues spanking you, increasing his pace and force until your entire body is rocking forward against the wall and tears stream down your cheeks in earnest. The pain has changed by now to something numb and hot, something that sends bolts of lightning shooting straight into your belly each time his hand meets your tender flesh. You start to writhe between blows, anticipating the red hot pain and pleasure, making him growl in response. He swats you across the vulva again and you howl as the pleasure-pain makes your knees tremble.

“Fourt-fourteen,” you cry out, a sob escaping you.

Paz stops to dip his fingers between your drenched, swollen lips.

“Look at how wet you are,” Paz whispers roughly. “You must _really_ like this, little one.”

He slides his fingers back in and groans deep in his throat. His fingers scissor and twist inside of you, over and over, until your entire body goes taut. Then he pulls his fingers out and he delivers another stinging blow against your core.

 _“Fifteen,”_ you stammer out, as you start to tighten up.

“Just so you know,” Paz says. “If you come without my permission, I’m going to be so disappointed in you.” He slides two fingers into you, probing deeper than before, almost up to the knuckle. “And you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

“N-no, daddy,” you whisper. “I don’t want to di-disappoint you. N-never wanna disappoint you.”

He hums, pulling his fingers out of you in response.

“Look at how wet you are,” he remarks. “So much of your pretty slick all over daddy’s fingers.”

He delivers another stinging blow and the tears finally fall. A low, keening sob escapes you.

 _“Sixteen_ ,” you sniffle out.

“Oh, are you crying already, little one?” Paz asks, turning your face up to his. “Is that all it took? A few little swats across this cute ass of yours?” Your shoulders shake with your next plaintive noise. His tone changes. “Shh,” he croons. “Daddy’s here. Can you hold out just a little bit longer for me?”

His hand rests on your ass cheek, massaging lightly, and you know he’s genuinely concerned he has overdone it. You’re in it so deep right now you figure you can’t make it worse, so you let loose with the first stupid thought that crosses your muddled brain.

“C-can barely feel it, d-daddy,” you stammer out, making him laugh again. “J-just allergies.”

“This pretty ass is going to hurt when I’m done,” Paz says, lifting his hand.

“Seventeen,” you say, and even though you just sassed him, he does not make you start over. Thank the gods, you think, even as he resumes his excruciating slow pace. Your entire backside feels like it’s glowing cherry-red with pain and arousal, to the point where you think it will be sore for weeks.

“Almost there, little one,” Paz breathes. “Almost there, just a few more for daddy. You can do it.”

“Eighteen,” you choke out, “Nineteen!”

“There we are, one more,” Paz says. “You’re almost done, little one.”

“Twenty,” you grit out, tears falling again, as you rest your forehead against the wall.

You have no idea how long it took for Paz to get to twenty, but it feels like you have run a marathon. Every muscle in your body is starting to ache. Your cheeks might literally be glowing cherry-red right now, so brightly that the bruising ache is all you can focus on right now. You rest your forehead against the wall, gulping down breaths of air until you can compose yourself.

“There,” Paz says. “How hard was that, little one?”

He starts massaging your sore, tender ass cheeks with his hands to soothe the pain away. Then he reaches up and turns your face up to his, fingers gentle against your chin.

“Now, what valuable lesson have you learned?”

You sniffle back your tears. Then you turn away, jutting your chin out defiantly. You have committed yourself to this path, you think. Might as well go full stupid and see how far he will take this. You might not be able to sit for a month, but at least you will enjoy every moment of it.

“You, Paz Vizsla, are an old man with a weak arm. I bet a stormtrooper could spank me harder than that, _daddy_ ,” you mock.

He draws back at your words. Even with his helmet, he looks genuinely surprised by your words. You stare at the inky blackness of his visor, _daring_ him to make the next move. It takes far longer for him to respond than you expected. It usually only takes a few stern words to get you back into your lane, so to speak, so this is quite new for him.

“Little one, are you still giving me sass, after the spanking I’ve given you?” he asks.

You blow a raspberry.

“Oh, little one,” Paz sighs in mock sorrow. “Here I thought I had finally gotten through to you. Do you know what happens next?”

“Bite me,” you say, making him laugh.

“Stick your fingers up my bucket again and I will,” he retorts.

Paz quickly unhooks the cuffs from the pipe, leaving the rings attached to your left wrist. Then he pushes you toward the pilot’s seat, undoing the front of his _kute_ as he sinks down onto the leather seat and spreads his knees. You fall to your knees on the cold, metal floor in front of him just as he pulls himself out of his pants.

His cock is as gloriously thick as the rest of him. Half-hard, it already curves up and tilts slightly to the left. Paz is uncut, skin already retracting, the dark head just peeking out at you. As he strokes, his cock continues hardening and lengthening up toward his belly button. The bulbous head is darker than the rest of the shaft, a drop of pre-cum glistering on it already. Your mouth waters involuntarily at the sight. He strokes himself a few times and you watch, mesmerized, as that single pearly drop drips off onto his _kute_. A waste, you think to yourself, gnawing on your bottom lip in frustration.

“Open up, little one,” Paz says, his other hand curling around the back of your head. “Let’s see how mouthy you get when I’ve got your mouth stuffed.”

You obey and close your eyes as you open your mouth and lean forward, resting your hands on his thick, solid thighs. You let your fingertips brush delicately up against the rippling corded muscle. Paz traces your lips with the head of his cock. You lick up the precum, another jolt of pleasure filling you at the taste of him in your mouth. Bitter, salty, and sweet, as if he has been eating nothing but fruit all week. Paz curls his hand around the back of your head and pulls you against his shaft. You nuzzle his silky-soft skin, lapping little licks all along the major vein on the underside, your pussy _aching_ for his cock. When you flick your tongue against the underside, Paz groans, and sinks in past your lips with a hiss.

You take as much as you can, your jaw already aching and your eyes watering. He tastes divine, fresh and salty and something unique to him, hard and hot like freshly cast _bes’kar_. Bobbing your head once slowly, you lap your tongue against the underside of his cock, relishing in the pleased rumble that escapes him. Paz keeps a firm grip around your head, guiding your pace, slowly increasing his pace and depth until the head of his cock his just brushing up against the back of your throat.

“All the way, little one,” he grunts. “Wanna…wanna hear you gag, please? I-if ya don’t mind – “

How could you say no to your warrior’s sweet request? You adjust your position and relax your jaw, pushing forward until he meets that resistance in the very back of your throat. You guide yourself down his shaft, swallowing around him, until he starts to sink _in_. He takes over then with a languid pace, bobbing your head on his cock, fingers digging into your scalp and pulling at your hair.

“See what happens when you upset daddy?” Paz rumbles at you.

You try to relax, even as your throat burns and aches around his intrusion. Paz lets out a deep, guttural groan, pulling you down until your nose brushes up against the curls at the base of his shaft. Your eyes water as he holds you there for a few seconds until you squeeze your fingers on his thighs, black dots swimming at the edge of your vision. He releases you with a quiet hum as you pull back to _breathe_ , digging your fingers into his muscular thighs to ground yourself.

“Look so fucking good like this,” he babbles. “Your pretty lips all stretched out, tears in your eyes, gagging on my cock – oh, fuck, wanna cum so, so bad right now – “

He only gives you a few moments before he pulls you right back down onto him, guiding his cock to the back of your throat Obediently, you swallow, and close your eyes as he fucks your throat. Eventually you just close your eyes and let him do as he pleases, listening to his soft groans.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he grunts at you, fingers tightening in your hair enough to make you whine and your eyes sting and water. The tears drip down your cheeks, but you refuse to quit, you refuse to tap out, even as his pace grows uneven. At the last moment, Paz pulls out and wrenches your head back, making you yelp. His free hand pumps at his shaft.

“Open up,” he grunts.

You obey, chest heaving, tongue extended out as far as you can manage, as Paz continues stroking himself. His hand pumps along his spit-slick shaft, fingers of his other hand pressing painfully into your scalp. He hunches forward, pulling you toward him, and comes, a low moan escaping him. Most of it ends up in your mouth. You remain limp in his tight grip, eyes half-hooded and not really seeing, as he finishes riding his orgasm out on your face. Then he tilts your face back, hand still wrapped around the back of your head.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he reaches up, and wipes his finger through the tear tracks on your face.

“Shh,” he soothes mockingly, his voice a low and gravelly rumble in your belly. “It’ll be alright. Don’t swallow just yet, little one. I’ve got something else for you.”

A warm, calloused hand covers your eyes, making you frown in confusion, but you stay still, listening and feeling as Paz shifts. It is disconcerting – you aren’t used to having one of your senses restricted, but you trust Paz implicitly. He leans in and you smell him, intoxicating and strong. Under that, you catch the faintest scent of something like leather and musk. Maybe even blaster residue. You almost flinch when you feel his _breath_ fanning across your face. When his lips brush against yours, your core ignites. You follow his lips, trying to kiss him back, to feel the lips you have been fantasizing about. He laughs.

“You have been such a brat today,” he says. “Do you think I should let you kiss me, little one?”

You thought you knew his voice before, but now that you can hear him without that modulator in the way, you realize just how much of him has been hidden by his helmet. His voice _melts_ every defense you have managed to erect in your heart. It’s like warm spiced caff, caramel candies, and that first breath of fresh air when you take your helmet off after a long, hard day. You nod, even in his tight grip. He leans in again, breath hot and tingling and minty against your lips. The noise you let out is somewhere between a moan and a whimper, high-pitched and keening, desperation to taste him seizing you.

Paz has never even _lifted_ the front of his bucket in your presence, not even after fucking you. You want to taste him, taste his lips. Finally feel his _tongue_ against you. His tongue darts out to trace your upper lip, his hand like a steel vice around your jaw, as he tilts your head back.

“How about I spit in your mouth instead?” he asks, a low hum escaping you. “Then I could make you swallow it, hmm?”

Oh, _fuck that noise_ , you think to yourself incredulously. You want his mouth on yours, not his _spit_. Kriffing _dick_. Rather than swallow, you launch his mess right back at him, making him jerk back and inhale sharply. You hope you hit him in the _eye_ , you think viciously to yourself. His fingers tighten in warning around your face. You _kind of_ regret it.

“No,” you rasp at him, your voice ruined by his cock.

“There are far better ways of telling me you don’t want something,” he says in amusement. “Well, fortunately for your ass, you didn’t get it on my face.”

“Damn,” you hiss.

He laughs. The hand clamped around the base of your neck releases you. You stay still until he lifts his hand from your eyes. You blink away the blurriness in your vision. Paz sits back in the chair, his hands enclosing your wrists.

“You are unusually combative today,” he murmurs. You can see the tacky, wet splotch on his shoulder where you had nailed him. “What will it take to get through to you?”

You remain where you are, jaw set defiantly, even as the cold metal floor digs into your knees. He tilts his helmet, drumming his free fingers against his thigh. Then he nods slightly, having chosen his next path. You feel trepidation – you genuinely can’t think of anything that would be suitable punishment. His cock is bare and flaccid, slick and shiny with your saliva. He reaches down and cups his cock, stroking it slowly. After a moment, he tugs on the metal ring around your wrist, pulling you closer.

“Spit,” he says, and you obey, maintaining a defiant stare.

He begins to stroke himself with long, slow pulls, the wet sounds filling the cockpit.

“You have crossed a line with me,” he murmurs “Do you think being a little brat is funny?” You shrug helplessly in response. “You used to be such a good girl for me, all sweet and submissive. You never talked back to me. Always respected me. Now, you’re acting out of turn.”

You give him an innocent look, and his entire body shifts imperceptibly, radiating his tension. He is _pissed_. Equal measures of arousal and trepidation fill you as his fingers squeeze tightly around your wrist.

“Looks like I’m just going to have to break you of this stubborn streak,” Paz murmurs. He releases his cock and traces his wet fingers along your cheek. “Get _up_ ,” he barks at you. “Now.”

You struggle to your feet. Paz follows, shoving you forward. You hiss as your bare breasts press into the cold console, your nipples as hard as the _bes’kar_ helmet on his head. Paz quite literally rips the shirt off you and tosses the mangled remains aside. Then his foot finds its way between yours once more, forcing them apart with a firm tap. You obey, rising up on tiptoe, lifting your ass for him.

He takes his place behind you, tracing the cleft between your cheeks with his cock, a trail of warm, wet liquid following. When he finds your cunt, he starts to work his way in. You are so wet he slides in, parting your walls around him, an eye-watering stretch that makes you gasp. Eventually, Paz finds the end of you, his cock thick and aching as he pauses to let you _feel_ him, throbbing and twitching deep inside.

“Fuck,” he purrs. “You are _tight_ , little one. Have you been waiting for daddy’s cock all evening?”

You nod once, panting as he shifts inside of you, giving you only a hint of that mind-numbing friction that you _need._ He starts a slow, rolling pace, hands keeping you pinned firmly in place.

“Love seeing that tiny little pussy of yours stretch out around my cock,” he grunts at you. “Love seeing this pretty ass bounce. Like you were made for me to fuck.”

You start to moan in earnest for your lover, writhing back against him, urging him to fuck you harder. As you start to spiral, the beginnings of your orgasm throb in you, sharp and tingling and breath-taking.

Suddenly, Paz groans. Your eyes shoot open when his hips stutter against yours. He comes to a halt. Then Paz pulls out with a wet noise. A rush of cum follows, leaving you empty and hot and aching. Your head jerks up and you stare at him incredulously. Realization washes over you like a bucket of cold water. He’s going to leave you hanging.

“Only good girls get to cum,” he says, slapping your ass lightly.

You are still so sensitive that you hiss and jump a bit.

“You _fucker_ ,” you hiss through your teeth.

“Go wash up,” he laughs at you.

Incredulously, you do as he says, and head down the ladder to start cleaning up. Your face burns with humiliation, accompanied by a tendril of arousal at that feeling of being used by your lover to prove a point. A part of you wants to rage at him, but the other part of you wants to push him even further to see what else he is capable of. Right now, the little voice in the back of your head is winning, urging you to cause more trouble for him. Paz follows you into the refresher a few minutes later as you start the water. He washes up in the sink with a cloth and a squirt of soap.

Stepping under the cold stream, you shiver, and your nipples pebble. He lingers, presumably to keep an eye on you. To prevent you from using the detachable head to take care of yourself. The cold water does nothing to temper the raging inferno in your belly. Even now, as you are rinsing him off your thighs and vulva, you _want_ him. Your desire for Paz a bone-deep ache that makes every muscle in your body tense. When you finish, you dry off quickly, shivering in the cool air before dressing.

On the way out, you slam the door to the refresher shut harder than you intended. Paz does not seem to care. Judging by the sag of his shoulders, he might even be amused at your petulant behavior. He gestures at the ladder, his command clear. Return to the cockpit. You obey, your damp feet chilled by the rungs as you climb up. Paz follows and points at the copilot’s chair.

“Sit,” he says firmly. “When you can ask nicely, I will let you come. Until then, you do not _move._ Are we clear?”

You turn away defiantly, focusing your attention out of the side window.

“Little one, I asked you a question,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Yes _who_?”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” you spit out.

“You are not going to win this fight,” Paz says simply. “You know it as well as I do. The sooner you submit, the sooner you get what you want, little one.”

You don’t respond. He sinks down into his chair with another sigh, one that you can’t decipher this time. He pulls his datapad out of his pocket and starts writing. You assume it is going to be a report of some kind. Swinging your leg back and forth, you wait patiently for the right time to act.

Your thoughts drift. There is not a time you can recall where a subordinate has managed to out-stubborn Paz Vizsla. When he wants something, _it will happen_ , one way or another. He has only ever resorted to physical means when the situation truly demands it – like if brawling idiots start getting out of hand, or if someone gets in his space to threaten _him_. He has already spanked your ass sore, so you can’t imagine what he would do if you continue pushing him. A small smile crosses your lips.

If he will not give you an orgasm, _you’ll get it on your own._ When you are certain he is fully absorbed in his datapad, you carefully unbutton the front of your pants. Then you bring your knee up, slouching in the seat, to make it easier for yourself later. His head moves ever so slightly as you rest your arm across your knee, blocking his view of your torso and hips. For a single heart-wrenching moment, you think he’ll tell you to sit up straight.

Nonchalantly, you swing your other leg back and forth, turning your attention to the buttons next to you. He watches for a little longer before turning his attention back to his datapad. By now, your heart is pounding so loudly you are sure he can hear it. But the rebuke never comes. Stealthily, you work your other hand down the front of your pants and over your mound.

As your fingers brush up against your clit, electricity _explodes_ inside of you. You can just _barely_ smother the moan that threatens to escape you. _Fuck_. You are throbbing, that sensitive bundle of nerves swollen and slick with arousal. Trapping yourself between your index and middle fingers, you start a glacial pace, trying to keep quiet as you bite down on your lower lip.

Surreptitiously, you watch Paz from the corner of your eye. He goes back to his data pad. You can see he’s working on a list of some kind. Slowly, you inch your fingers toward your cunt. Your slit is already _drenched_ , from your slick and his cum. You slide the tip of one finger into yourself, smothering your sigh, feeling as your walls tighten. Boldly, you add a second, grinding your palm against your clit. Unbidden, a smug smile crosses your lips as you get closer and closer.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lifting his head.

“N-nothing,” you squeak out, squeezing your clit, your hips nearly bucking up off the chair.

“You had _better not_ be masturbating, little one,” he warns.

“Mm-hmm,” you whimper.

Fuck it, he knows. You cup your breast with your free hand and massage. Then you move to your nipple and pinch, rolling it between your fingers. This time, you can’t hold back your quiet moan. Paz bolts to his feet just as you slide your index finger directly against your throbbing pearl.

“You little _shit,_ ” Paz barks at you, even as you bite down on your lower lip. “What did I tell you?”

You ignore him as you moan, rocking your hips as you find that spot that makes your legs _shake._ He growls. Part of you wonders if he thinks his growls will actually deter you from misbehaving. His growls have only ever turned you on, made you feel some primal thrill at knowing that _he_ is the predator here. Biting down on your lip, you run your mouth at him.

“Paz,” you whimper. “Fuck, I wish this was your cock inside me, wish I could _feel you_ splitting me wide open – “

“Stop,” he orders. You just keep going, your moans growing louder with each swipe of your fingers against your flesh.

“Little one,” he warns. “I will not forgive your insubordination again.”

With another swipe of your fingertips against your pearl, you come, crying out his name as your cunt clenches around nothing. It’s quick and fast, like a snake striking at its prey. It also is not enough to take the edge off that razor-sharp hunger in your belly. When you come down from your high, you pull your fingers out of your pants and wipe your mess onto your thigh. You turn your head to look at him, eyes hazy and hooded with pleasure, a hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Get over here,” Paz says, unnaturally calmly. “Now.”

Your smirk widens as you get to your feet, legs still wobbly from your intense orgasm. His pants are already down around his thighs. When you make to sink down on your knees, Paz shakes his head.

“Get on,” he says. “Facing away.”

You climb into his lap, balancing against the console. When his fingers tighten around your hip, you obediently sink down, adjusting until he finds your entrance.

“Now,” he rumbles against the back of your shoulder. “Let’s see how much of daddy’s cock fits inside of you.”

It takes a few tries before you can get him inside but when you do finally manage, you can’t help the mewl that escapes you. Your eyes roll back as the blunt head drags against your hypersensitive walls, throbbing so deep inside that you can’t _think_. There’s no feasible way you _could_ think, not with the overwhelming heat radiating from his body, swallowing you. Engulfing you. _Smothering_ you.

“Fits so, so good,” Paz purrs, hand kneading at your hip. “Gonna fill you up, little one.”

He just keeps going, a dizzying rush spreading through your entire body, leaving you delirious and hazy. When he finally – _finally_ – makes it all the way inside you, you feel like you’re about to burst wide open.

“Mmm, look so good impaled like that, your sweet little pussy straining to take me,” Paz remarks.

He only gives you a moment to catch your breath before he places his palm against your belly and presses down. He growls with pleasure, cock jerking in you, as he rests his helmet against your shoulder. Vaguely, you feel him bind your hands behind your back with the cuffs once more.

“I wonder how long it will take before you break,” Paz murmurs into your shoulder, his arm tightening around your hips. “Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour?”

You let out a low noise of despair at the thought of sitting perfectly still on his cock for very long. He leans back in the chair, pulling you back against his chest, his other hand falling to your clit. You choke when he strokes a lazy circle around your overstimulated clit, making your entire body jerk in response.

“I wonder,” he says. “I wonder if I can use your pussy to get off? Cum in you until it leaks out?”

His words make you shiver.

“Oh, you like it when daddy fills you up?” Paz asks, in mock curiosity.

That _fucker_ knows that you love it when he finishes in you. Pussy, ass, it doesn’t matter – you just want some part of him in you, coating your insides and dripping down your thighs. He trails hard fingers on either side of your spine, gooseflesh erupting in the wake of his burning hot touch.

“Is it because you like feeling me in you? Knowing that I’ve marked you? Claimed that sweet, tight little pussy as mine?” he asks. That’s not it, you think, it’s the _other_ reason, the one you have never really vocalized to him. He hums. “Or…is it because you want to pretend I’m firing live rounds into you?”

The noise that leaves you is downright _mortifying_. Your pussy clenches around him like a vice, earning a laugh from him.

“Oh, little one, you never fail to surprise me,” Paz continues. “Who _knew_ that you, of all people, have a _breeding_ fetish? Do I need to trade a week of good behavior for a nice, thick load deep in your cunt?”

Oh, gods. That…that might actually work, you think desperately to yourself, as you duck your head down in embarrassment. He tuts in response and pinches your ass sharply. You jump in response, hissing at him, and the fucker only laughs.

“Remember, little one,” Paz says. “ _I_ am the one in control here. _I_ am the one who decides when you come, if I even let it happen at all.”

“Fucker,” you whimper, “You absolute _fucker_.”

He only laughs, his fingers tracing another languid circle around your clit.

“Beg nicely and I may let you come,” he responds. “Be exceptionally good and I’ll finish in you.”

You hiss at him in frustration, earning another light pinch against your backside.

He keeps you there for gods-only-know how long, his arm laced over your hips, the fingers of his other hand circling your pearl. Each time you start to get tight around him, he stops, leaving you hanging and unfulfilled. His arm is like an iron band around you, keeping you from grinding down onto his cock for a measure of relief from his pleasurable torture.

“You know, little one, I forgot to get my implant swapped last month. So that means there’s a real chance I’m actually producing viable sperm. And if you’re a bad girl, I’ll just pull out and come on the floor.”

“I’m gonna be-be fertile soon,” you rasp at him, “Would be a fucking _waste_ for you to finish anywhere but inside me.”

“Is it a waste if I teach you some manners in the process?” Paz says in a tone that sounds cheerful. _Sadist_. His hands cup your belly. “All you gotta do, little one, is _be good_. And I’ll do my best to put a baby _right here_.”

You swallow dryly as his palm rests against your belly.

“Wouldn’t you like that, little one?” Paz murmurs, his helmet resting on your shoulder. “Looking down every night, watching as your belly gets all round? Watching your breasts get heavy?”

Paz waits until your walls stop quivering around him to resume his torturous pace.

“You are a fine warrior,” he continues. “It would be an insult to the _Resol’nare_ to stop at just one. What if I just kept you pregnant?” You squeeze around him involuntarily, making him laugh again. “A mouthy little brat like you needs more than exercise and drills to keep you out of trouble.”

You get close on multiple occasions, but he always stops you before you can come, torturing you until you are writhing and whimpering, head swimming dizzyingly with the pure frustration of being left unfulfilled and wanting, even as he whispers pure filth into your ear.

“I’ll just breed you, over and over again,” Paz remarks. “As soon as one is weaned, I’ll knock you up. Keep one in your belly and one at each breast.”

 _Fuck_. You squirm, but he clamps his arm over your hips to keep you still.

“I think eight or nine would be a good place to start,” Paz says. “A mix of those we make and those we find, all ours, all loved equally. It might keep you busy for the next twenty or so years. Do you like the sound of that, little one? Being the lucky warrior to help me make the Vizsla clan strong once more?”

 _Fucking fuck_ , that does sound incredible. You whimper and Paz laughs again.

“Just be good for daddy,” he growls, nuzzling the side of your neck, his visor cool and hard against your neck. “Submit, and I’ll make your every dream come true.”

Gasping, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder as he traps your clit between his fingers. He starts a maddeningly slow pace. It’s all too much, yet not enough, making you writhe against the iron band across your middle. Finally, after what feels like _years_ , you can’t take anymore of the sweet torture and you _break_. You _break_ into a million tiny pieces.

“Paz,” you beg quietly. “Please, please – “

“Please what, little one?” he asks in a mocking tone.

“Please let me come,” you beg. “I’ll be good, I swear, just – _please_ – “

“I don’t know,” Paz says, tracing another lazy circle around your pearl. “You spit my cum back at me. You got yourself off without my permission.”

You whimper piteously, tears springing to your eyes and coursing down your cheeks. They drip down hotly onto your heaving chest, mingling with the little beads of sweat between your breasts.

“Why should I let you come?” he barks at you, his voice harsh. “Why should I reward you for being such a rude little shit to me?”

For a moment, his tone fills you with cold despair, and you really think he will leave you like this, overstimulated and overwhelmed, with no relief in sight. The thought shatters something in you and a low sob catches in your throat as you start to panic. You start to cry in earnest. Immediately, Paz stills his hand. He undoes the cuffs around your wrists and shifts you in his lap, pulling you into an embrace. You cling to him as you try to smother your sobs.

“Hey,” he says softly, soothing. “Baby, it’s alright,” he soothes. “I’m here, sweet girl. Deep breaths. In and out. I’m here, I’m gonna take care of you. Shhh.”

You obey, sniffling quietly, as you quickly regain control over yourself. He makes soft, soothing noises, arms tight and warm around you, your head tucked under his chin, cementing you firmly in reality. No matter how much he has teased you, he has never left you unsatisfied. He has always taken care of your needs, so you do not know where those thoughts had come from. Even now, the feeling of panic is rapidly dissipating, now that you are in that warm, safe place in his arms.

“Overwhelmed,” you manage to say hoarsely. “I’m fine. T-too much.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, baby, I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me. I was overwhelmed,” you whisper back, “I wanna…I wanna finish. Please.”

He exhales.

“You sure?”

You nod, wiping the tears off your face.

“Please?” you ask. “Can we go to bed?”

“Yeah,” he rumbles soothingly. “Of course. Anything you want, little one.”

He shifts to the edge of the seat. Then he carefully lifts you up in his arm and carries you to the captain’s quarters. There, he kicks the door shut, enveloping you both in pitch-black darkness. Paz makes his way over to the bed and places you down on the firm surface. The bedding here smells just like him, you think, as you nuzzle into his pillow. He crawls onto the bed with you.

“How do you want me, little one?”

You lace your legs around his waist and pull him toward you. Paz resists for a moment but eventually yields, one hand landing heavily on the mattress next to you. Then you wrap your arms around his shoulders and place a kiss against his cheek plate. To your surprise, you meet skin, and inhale a bit. You feel the bed dip as he puts his helmet down. Without hesitating, you curl your arms around his shoulders, lifting one to the back of his neck. He’s stiff at your touch, but he soon relaxes as you dig your fingers into the short hair there.

Then he leans in, trailing his fingers up along your jugular to your jaw. His lips are so light against yours, almost tentative, as he kisses you a second time. Lifting your head, you catch his lower lip between your teeth and nibble gently, sighing with pleasure at the low rumble that escapes him. Paz takes it slowly, yet it only fans the flames in your belly, fueled by the anticipation of tasting him once more.

You tilt your face up, deepening the kiss, your toes curling as he finally trails his tongue along your lower lip, warm and wet and faintly minty. The next kiss is far hungrier, open mouthed, as he applies a sinful amount of suction to your bottom lip. Then he bites down, setting off a supernova behind your closed eyes and you _whine_. Then he withdraws, leaving you frustrated, your lips tingling from that blistering kiss.

“Hm,” he hums. “Interesting.”

“Mm?” you respond, still struggling to catch your breath.

“Never done that before.”

You blink.

“You’ve never - ?”

“Nope,” he says. “First time I’ve taken my helmet off in front of another person, little one.”

Your hands falter minutely but you keep touching him, daring to cup his cheeks. He presses a kiss to your palm as you let your fingers trace his features. Smiling to yourself, you trace his brows, feel his cheek bones, and scratch at his scruffy cheeks. Paz lets you touch him, and eventually, he seems to melt into your touch.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep on you,” he mumbles.

“Maybe later,” you say. “But..uhm…can we - ?”

“Of course,” he murmurs against your lips. And with that, Paz is sliding right back into you, reigniting the inferno coursing through your veins. He pauses to give you time to adjust, but you don’t need it, having spent all that time mewling and wrapped around his cock. Slowly, Paz rocks his hips against yours, never pulling out too far before sliding right back in. Even as you buck and writhe to meet him, Paz takes it slow, forcing whimpers and incoherent pleas from your sore, aching throat.

“You’re doing so good. Take it slow, little one,” he murmurs encouragingly. “Daddy is here. Let me take care of you.”

You toss your head back on the pillow, the sheets already sticking to your sweaty skin, your hands rising to dig your nails into his shoulders. He catches your lips in a sloppy kiss, tongue plunging in past your lips, flat against the roof of your mouth – yet another part of you he has filled and claimed as his own. You whine, one hand to tug at his hair, but he does not increase his maddeningly slow pace.

“We’re gonna come together,” Paz croons gently. “Let daddy guide you there, little one. Take it slow, let it build up. I’m here, I’m not going to leave you.”

 _Fuck_ , you’re so, _so close_ but he won’t let you come.

“Paz,” you wail at him. “ _Please_ , I need – I _need to_ – “

“Doing so, so good, little one. We’re almost there. Almost there,” he groans into your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m so close, I’m so close – “ And finally, _finally_ he increases his pace, driving into you hard and deep until the wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the small room. His moans and grunts are intoxicating, fanning those flames until they threaten to burn and consume every last molecule of your being. “Alright, little one, hold on to daddy. Daddy’s gonna – gonna fill you – gonna put a baby in you – “

At the rich groan that escapes him, you come, tightening your legs around his waist, keeping him locked inside of you, barely aware of the ecstatic sobs escaping you. The pleasure is blinding, the fire consuming you from the inside out until you are left shaking and limp on the bed, legs wrapped around Paz’s hips as he continues thrusting shallowly, drawing out your orgasm. Weakly, you tap at his shoulder for him to stop grinding into your clit. After placing a kiss on your lips, Paz rests on top of you for a moment, your cunt occasionally rippling around his semi-stiff length. You let go of him, sliding your legs down, resting one arm over your eyes as you try to _think_.

Everything is soft and warm and fuzzy. Like you cannot find the will to care. Paz pulls out with a quiet noise and a generous dribble of warmth follows. You press your thighs together, but it’s too late to contain the mess. Then he crawls right back onto you. You meet his lips in an uncoordinated, sloppy kiss, wondering if he’s hard _again_. You aren’t sure if you can take anymore of his cock inside you. You are ruined right now, possibly for any other man in the galaxy.

Then he moves down, peppering your skin with open-mouth kisses. _Oh_ , you think. _That_ is what he wants. You won’t argue, you think drowsily, your pussy could do with a little gentle treatment. Paz nips at your hip before kissing his way to your mound. Your legs are already parted for him as he settles on his belly.

Shifting impatiently, you scratch your nails lightly at his scalp, feeling as his breath fans along your heated flesh. His first few licks are tentative, almost hesitant. Then he drags his tongue along your slit and you _moan_ , your knees quivering. Paz takes that as his invitation, slinging one arm over your hips.

“Relax,” Paz says, and you obey, knees falling apart. “Let daddy take care of you, little one.”

You drift off to that sweet, hazy place between wakefulness and sleep, all thoughts escaping you as you focus only on the wet warmth of his mouth. The gentle roughness of his tongue against your lips. The teasing bite of his teeth on your thighs. Periodically, you drift off, relishing in the lazy pleasure he is giving you, coming back only when your body is tight and quivering on the verge of orgasm. Then he slides his tongue into you, coaxing you over the edge and drawing out your languid ecstasy. You are at the point of true exhaustion when he slides one palm over your thigh.

“One more for daddy?” he asks.

“Yes,” you whisper. “One m-more.”

He returns his mouth to your cunt and your toes curl, his tongue finding _just_ the right spot against your clit, applying indirect pressure. Then he slides two fingers in, burying them in you up to the knuckle. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you keen, sobbing his name as he finds just the right pace. Then he slides a third finger in and that is all it takes. You come undone, losing all control over your mouth as he works you to your final orgasm of the night, his fingers uncomfortably thick and unyielding against your swollen walls.

“Please, Paz, please,” you beg, your hips bucking against his arm, as he maintains a slow, firm pace inside of you. “Please, oh gods, I need – I need more – “

He curls his fingers inside you, applying _just_ the right amount of pressure to that sweet spongy spot, wrenching another keening cry from you. Your back nearly arches off the sticky sheets, fireworks exploding behind your closed eyelids. Paz laps his tongue around your clit, applying indirect pressure, circling and teasing, working you into a heaving, writhing mess. You come so hard that your vision goes grey and your ears ring. Then you collapse on the bed, unable to move, as Paz pulls his fingers out. You lay there, sucking down great big gasps of air, your racing heart hammering against your ribs. Slowly, you start to come down from your prolonged high.

“Good girl,” he rumbles quietly. “Came so many times for me. Made such pretty noises, too. Good, good girl.”

You garble something at him. Maybe it had been more like a grunt. You aren’t sure.

“Wait here, little one,” he says gruffly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

You can only nod in response. You aren’t sure if you can form a coherent sentence right now, much less _move._ Your body feels like Paz has rolled you up and wrung every last orgasm he could out of your body, draining you completely dry. True to his word, Paz returns within a few minutes. Your arm is still over your eyes, but you don’t think you could have seen anything regardless. He closes the door behind him. You hear a gentle noise as he puts something down on the table. Then the bed dips under him.

You are unable to stop from twitching when he presses a hot, wet cloth against your inner thigh. As he cleans you up, you close your eyes, humming your pleasure hoarsely. He spends several minutes cleaning you up, switching to a new cloth when the old one cools. Then he pats you dry with a dry cloth. You turn onto your side and snuggle into the pillow, patting the bed next to you.

Paz does not join you immediately. Instead, you hear him shuffling around. You realize he’s changing the sheets when the bottom sheet scrunches up around you. You roll onto the clean side of the bed and let him work on the other side, stretching out lazily as he spreads a thicker blanket over your legs. Immediately, you pull it up toward your chin.

“Scoot over,” he says gruffly.

“Not gonna make me go sleep in the bunk?” you murmur, scooting onto your side of his bed.

“You can if you want,” he remarks, sliding in.

“My brain. No work,” you manage to say. “Much less. M’ legs.”

He huffs with amusement. As he gets comfortable on the pillow, you reach up and press your lips to his cheek. His skin is hot and damp, indicating he’s washed his face and probably brushed his teeth. He curls his arm around you.

“Here,” he says gruffly, pressing something into your hands.

“What is it?”

“Tea,” he says. “And don’t you _dare_ spill it.”

You giggle as you unscrew the cap on the bottle. Immediately, the scent of hot, toasted spices floods your nose and you sigh with pleasure. Your favorite blend. Almost as quickly, you realize you are parched, and you start drinking it down, your eyes drifting shut as the honeyed heat soothes your throat. When it is gone, Paz takes the empty container from you and puts it on the table. Then he promptly knocks it off onto the floor. With an exasperated sigh, he flops back onto the pillow. You move in for a proper cuddle.

“Holy fuck, you are a walking furnace,” you blurt out, resting your hand on his soft tummy and your feet against his calves, earning a startled yelp from him. You snicker quietly.

“And _you_ are like ice,” he says grumpily. But he does not make you move. You just cuddle closer, trying to steal as much of his warmth as you can.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Paz asks gruffly, his arm curling around you.

“What lesson, my ancient relic?” you ask sweetly.

Laughter burbles up through your lips when you _feel_ his incredulous stare in the darkness of the room. Then he sighs _again_ and reaches down to tickle your side.

“Brat.”

* * *

Goor - Mando’a equivalent of yeet, fandom-created slang.  
Kute - basically anything worn under the armor.  
Resol’nare - Six tenets of being Mandalorian.  
Shebs - Ass, rear end.


End file.
